The Corpse-Sea stretched far beyond what the eye could perceive, a great, silent ocean of rot and ruin. Jagged bones, the size of mountains, jutted from the horizon like the broken spires of a long-dead city. In the distance, the faint silhouette of something moving—a creature, or perhaps a fragment of the Fracture itself—slithered across the twisted landscape, its body undulating in a rhythm older than time itself.
You—or what was left of you—moved through the remains of titanic beings, your body an amalgamation of flesh and instinct, crude and incomplete. The ground beneath you squelched with the sound of decay, the air thick with the stench of death, the oppressive weight of a dying world pressing down on your malformed form.
But there was something.
There was something that set you apart from the others. The other mindless spawns of this grotesque place, they consumed the dead with little thought. They slithered and crawled, driven only by hunger, by the primal urge to survive. But not you. You had seen the Script. You had felt the spark of something else inside you.
Ego Spark: 1%. The words burned into your mind, flickering like a faint, dying star.
A glance at your form—the twisted, amorphous body that barely resembled any creature you had once known—showed you the truth. You were not just another spawn. You were different.
There was purpose here. There was a need.
Your senses were sharper than before, your awareness—though fractured—was more profound. And the hunger inside you was more than just the need for sustenance. It was an insatiable thirst for understanding.
But now, as you wandered through the endless decay, the hunger was unmistakable. Your body demanded to feed, and the scent of fresh flesh was on the air. A creature was nearby. A scented thing, barely alive, caught between the fringes of reality and the nightmare that enveloped this forsaken world.
Your movements were awkward, disjointed, but there was an eerie grace in how you moved. Perhaps it was the influence of the Ego Spark—perhaps it was the flicker of higher awareness in your otherwise primitive mind.
The creature, a Shriek Hound, lay ahead—its skeletal form vaguely humanoid, long limbs spindling from an emaciated frame. It was hunched over, gnawing at the remains of a dead titan, its dark, wide eyes fixated on the feast. A hiss echoed from its throat, its mutated senses detecting your presence.
You felt it—the pull of the Ritual Codex, guiding you. The Script was alive in your mind, whispering commands and offering the path to power.
"Consume," it said, though it was not a choice. It was an imperative.
The Shriek Hound turned, its ghastly form shuddering as it locked eyes with you. Its gaze was ancient and filled with hunger. But there was also something more—a trace of intelligence. This was not some mindless creature. It had evolved, just as you had.
The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though reality itself trembled underfoot. Corruption—the system's poison—breathed in your very being.
Attack?
The choice was simple. You could strike, claim the Hound's flesh, and in doing so, feed your form. But there was a risk. The Hound was dangerous. It had evolved to survive, just like you. It was aware.
And as the distance between you and the creature closed, something shifted in the air—a palpable tension, a sense of foreboding. The Fracture hung above you like a shadow, leaking nightmares into the world.
The Shriek Hound snarled, its mouth twisting in a grotesque grin. The creature was not just an animal. It was a beast of the Fracture, a product of its twisted, godless laws. Its body rippled with dark energy, veins glowing faintly with the same corruption that gnawed at you.
Your mind screamed. It's too dangerous.
But Ego Spark burned brighter within you. The call of the Rites beckoned you forward.
"Ascend," it whispered.
Your arms—strange and misshapen—extended toward the creature.
A decision. The first of many.
You would consume.
The Hound lunged at you, its long limbs unfolding with a speed that defied its gaunt body. Its jaws snapped, aiming for your throat. You ducked, your reflexes surprisingly sharp, guided by instincts that felt alien, yet unmistakably yours.
You had no weapon—just your flesh. But you weren't just any creature. You were something else.
With a guttural roar, you dove forward, sinking your teeth into the Hound's exposed neck. The taste was vile, acidic, but there was power in it. Its blood, thick and black, poured down your throat, filling you with a surge of strength. It tasted of the Fracture, of death, of madness.
The Hound screeched, thrashing beneath you, but you didn't let go. The Script had opened your mind, your senses, your very being to something new.
You evolved.
Ritual Codex Update:
New Evolution: Flesh Weeper – Gain an ability to drain life force through physical contact.
New Trait: Corruption Resistance (Tier 1) – Begin to tolerate the influence of the Fracture.
New Mutation: Increased Awareness – Enhanced sensory perception, allowing you to sense changes in the environment and hidden dangers.
The creature's struggles weakened, its body convulsing as your form grew. Its screams—its essence—became part of you. You felt it all merge within. The power. The hunger. The corruption.
The Fracture whispered, pulling you deeper.
This was only the beginning.